


The Aquilonian Summer Letters

by Laetitia_Laetitii



Series: Aquilonian Cycle [2]
Category: Runescape
Genre: Aquilonian Cycle, Gen, History of Gielinor, Menaphite Empire, Second Age, Senntisten, Zarosian Empire, Zarosian-Kharidian War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-08-15 09:11:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8050597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laetitia_Laetitii/pseuds/Laetitia_Laetitii
Summary: The summer the Kharidian-Zarosian War breaks out, a wealthy businessman visits his friends in Senntisten. While news from the front arrive in fragments, wine flows at lavish parties, priests at the Divine Palace plot Pontifical succession, and unscrupulous merchants amass fortunes furnishing the Imperial Army.This story is a part of the Aquilonian Cycle, a series revolving around the Aquiloniuses, a rich and influential family in mid-Second Age Senntisten.





	1. Author's Note: Map and Place Names

 

     The Aquilonian Cycle is a series of stories revolving around the Aquilonii, a wealthy and influential human family in Mid-Second Age Senntisten. They rise to prominence a few generations before the Zarosian-Kharidian War, and fall from grace in its aftermath, as the Mahjarrat force their way to the power structure of the Empire.

     It is the story of one family, but it’s also the story of the end of an era; of the War, of Tumeken’s Explosion and the devastation of Menaphite lands, and the arrival of the Mahjarrat.

     As it deals with Gielinor’s past, not to mention an era of which we only have scraps of information, I’ve had to improvise and invent on a few things, as explained here:

**Geography**

     Apart from the names of certain important cities and fortresses, we know little about regions and place names of the Zarosian Empire, and only have a vague idea of its borders.

     At the beginning of these stories, I decided to make the Empire consist of Senntisten Province (modern-day northern Misthalin), Lassar Province (northern Asgarnia), Kharyrll Province (North Coast of Morytania) Kharidian Province (Al-Kharid), and Forinthry Propior (south-eastern Wilderness.)

     Expansions to southern Asgarnia and Misthalin, Forinthry Ulterior (northern and western Wilderness), Ghorrock (the Frozen North), and Magna Kharidia (northern parts of the Kharidian Desert) would be made over the following centuries.

     A few other place names worth mentioning are:

    -Mons Albus: White Wolf Mountain              

    -Mons Lassaricus: Ice Mountain

    - Montes Dareeyakianiae: The Dareeyakian Range; modern-day Trollheim and Ice Plateau area

    -Portus Orientalis: A Zarosian town, modern-day Port Phasmatys

    ***

     **Senntisten: The Holy City**

     The stories, as you will see, feature plenty of topographical details about the Holy City of Senntisten; streets, neighbourhoods, and important buildings. These are more or less all my own inventions, so please take the time to skim through the following tourist tract and familiarise yourself with them.

**Loci Insignis**

I —Palatium Divinum & Primum Statum. The only canon locations listed here need no introductions. Heart of the Empire, centre of Senntisten.

II —Forum Templorum. The square in front of the Divine Palace, surrounded on all sides by the most magnificent temples in the world. The faithful gather here to hear official announcements, and the army shows off its might in triumphs.

III —Forum Flammarum Aeternarum. Home to two main attractions: The petrified remains of the great, many-headed Loarnab, and the stand where people convicted of crimes against the Empire are executed. The square gets its name from the four braziers around the statue, in which blessed flames burn to keep any trace of Loarnab’s lingering power under control. (Dead gods are a pain to deal with.)

Also hosts a spice market.

IV —Domus Gryphorum, the palace of the Archbishop of Senntisten. Pat a griffin statue for good luck.

V —The Canalside Docks. Ships operating between Annakarl and Senntisten load and unload here. Lively and dangerous place.

VI —Pons Infernaliorum Oblitorum. Older than Pons Victoris, and less popular due to its vicinity to the Canalside slums.

VII — Pons Victoris. Victor’s Bridge or Conqueror’s Bridge, the more popular thoroughfare linking the eastern and western halves of the city.

VIII — Via Lassarica. A road that runs straight from Mons Albus (White Wolf Mountain) in Lassar Province to Senntisten. The Lassarica and the Via Sacrosancta (which runs from Paddewwa through Senntisten and Kharyrll to Portus Orientalis in the far east) are the two most important roads in this part of the Empire.

IX —Villa Aquilonia. The family home of the Aquilonii, a splendid manor perched on the northern edge of Silvarea’s Southern Hill. Originally built by Acernus the Elder.

X —Pons Militum. Soldiers’ Bridge, named after the garrisons in the north-west corner of the city.

XI —Linguola. A narrow slice of land that houses the main docks of the inland port, a fishmarket, and the temples that double as customs offices.

XII —Insula Salva. A small island in the middle of the River Salve, which both the Empire and Hallowland claim as their own. No-man’s land, where traders do business with Saradominists on the sly.

 

**Regiones Senntistenis**

1) Urbs Prisca. The Old City, also known as central Senntisten. “Between the canal and the wall.” Here you will find the greatest temples, palaces and mansions in the city. All the most important buildings are located here, and it is home to the crème of Senntisten’s elite.

Finding your way around The Old City is relatively easy due to its strict grid plan.  The twelve main streets, named after the twelve Chthonian dukes, run north to south, and learning their order will make navigating easy.

Nota bene: In everyday parley, Senntistenians simply refer to the Twelve Streets by the names of the dukes. If someone tells you he lives “in Picus”, it means that his house is found along Picus Street (and that he’s obscenely rich.) If your friend wants to see you “On Orcus near Infernals”, it means you should go to Orcus Street (which runs along the Annakarl Canal) and wait near the Bridge of the Forgotten Infernals.

The streets are divided furthermore into “upper” and “lower” halves, meaning respectively the parts north and south of the Via Lassarica. (The northern ends are more prestigious than the southern ends.)

Nota bene etiam: The first six streets from the Canal are the streets of Orcus, Ceres, Picus, Nemesis, Quirinius and Sucellus. The Archbishop’s palace is in Picus Street. The Divine Palace lies between Nemesis and Qurinius. Valerius’ house is in Sucellus. The road leading to Forum Templorum and the Palace is the Via Prima, which has six of the ducal streets on each side, begins in the Kharidian Province.

2) Regio Mercatorum.  Besides various businesses of the better sort, you will find here upscale housing and temples doubling as government offices. Do your shopping here, travellers, and avoid the northern end (which all too soon slips into Southern Silvarea.)

3) Silvarea. The most mixed part of Senntisten.

The north-west corner has mainly low-to mid-priced housing, but also accommodates the city’s garrison. Soldiers are conspicuous, and legions departing through the Via Sacrosancta gate are a common sight.

The hills, Colles Silvareae, or simply Colles, are different in character. The Northern Hill is rather suburban, and not even considered a part of Senntisten by many. Some temples, small businesses, slightly lower population density. A peaceful, if not terribly interesting place to live.

The Southern Hill is a home to two worlds: On the summit are found the villas of the city’s rich and powerful –beautiful houses surrounded by well-kept gardens (and very high walls), the best of which have breath-taking views across the valley. Whereas the northern edge is a sheer drop, the southern side slopes gently, and is fashioned into terraces. While the highest ones are still a rather nice neighbourhood, with each level descended the houses get smaller and the alleys darker. At the very foot of the hill lies South Silvarea, the most thoroughly damned part of the Holy City.

4) Ripa Euroa & Subsilvarea, East Canalside and Southern Silvarea. An endless maze of ready-to-collapse insulae, meandering little lanes, and both literal and figurative dead ends. The downstairs stores feature bloodhouses, brothels, and cheap taverns, while the apartments above them house most of the city’s poor humans. When condemned buildings are finally knocked down (despite the complaints from the landlords), the ones replacing them are often just as flimsily constructed and soon just as overcrowded.

5) Portus Linguolae & Regio Artificum. The docks on the River Salve, Industrial areas and craftsmen’s shops. Brightly-painted riverboats from Kharid, Uzer, and Ullek sail up the river to trade here, don’t miss out on a good deal on crystal vases, exotic fruit, or embroidered silk robes. Buy Menaphite carpets, buy Kharidian wines! Fishermen bring their catch all the way from the Hallowland Sea in huge clay jars, have your dinner gutted on spot or take it home alive! Head further inland to the artisan quarters for silverware or ceramics. Buy a par of sandals or have them made to measure. Commission a bust of yourself or a tombstone for Uncle Julius, maybe he’ll finally take the hint. Or go and take a stroll through the slave market for fascinating Forinthryans, divine Dareeyakians, lovely Loarnics, or dirty heathen Saradominist bastards! If you want it, someone is selling it here. If you don’t want it, someone is still selling it here.

*******

This is the place, this is the time.

One day early in the summer, Valerius Aquilonius sits down to write a letter to his friend in Lassar...


	2. Author's Note: Map and Place Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original published version of this fic, Florus is named Cincinnatus. At the time, I placeholder-named him after a real historical figure (who is understood to be the exact opposite of the character in question, a rather wily businessman), and never bothered changing it. 
> 
> Now, a year later or so, I have corrected my lapsus, and C. is called Florus Aubertus -Rich Abundant, which suits him in both sound and meaning. 
> 
> I decided to only give Zarosian humans a given name and a family name (or just a given name in the case of slaves and peasants) instead of the Roman praenomen + nomen + cognomen, since that would be a) too complicated for me b) entirely a Chthonian practice anyway; see under Senecianus Aloysius Pamphilius.

     Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten, fifth day of the sixth month

 

     Valerius sends warm greetings to Florus Ubertus.

 

     It is too long since I have written, but I believe my excuse is valid –last week a fire broke out in the neighbouring insula, and the burning debris from the upper floors ignited my roof. My servants managed to contain the destruction, but the cubiculae on the north side are quite badly damaged, and a good part of the roof needs to be retiled. The repairs should take a few months, and in the meantime my brother Acernus invited me to stay at Villa Aquilonia, the family home in Silvarea. I did not hesitate to accept and have now been here for a few days.

     Since that is where I am writing, let me tell you a bit about the house I grew up in. It is on the Southern Hill, but on the northern edge of the summit, so that one neither breathes the stench of the city nor sees the squalor of South Silvarea. The northern hillside is too steep to build on, and as such our nearest neighbours on that side are below us, in the houses lining to road from Kharyrll. Up here the air is clear and wholesome, and the water from the springs is better than in any of the aqueducts. In the mornings birds greet us in the trees, and at night the crickets sing in the garden’s grass.

     The house itself is a perfect square. The rooms are arranged around the atrium so that the cubiculae are on one side, the triclinium, the library and the study on the opposing one, and the kitchen, the storage rooms and servants’ quarters in the back. The main entrance opens to the north, and in front of it is a tiled and pillar-lined terrace. The garden spreads all around the house, with little paths running between great ivy-covered oaks and marble benches placed around the ornamental ponds. Cypresses line the perimeter walls, spreading their pleasant smell in the air and blocking the view from potentially nosy neighbours. The back is a home to the orchard, vegetable plot and beehives that keep us in produce, as well as a pond where my brother keeps carps. If a good thing ever came out of a fire it is having been forced to move back here, if only for a short term. Despite the situation my mind is at ease in this place, and my body healed.

     And as I wish, Florus, that I could tarry here forever and not return to the city, so do I wish that I could tarry in this letter, and speak of birdsong and beehives, but the circumstances allow for neither.

     The reason I write to you is to inform of certain turns of events in the capital, of which you will not learn through regular routes. The first item concerns the Pontifex Maximus Sero, and it is the reason why I’ll only entrust this letter to my personal messenger. The matter is this –the health of His Holiness has collapsed, and how long he has to go is anyone’s guess. He fell ill about a month ago, and though the worst of it seems to have passed, he remains enfeebled, and subject to strange fits of weakness. As doctors are no wiser now than they were before Senntisten had walls, no-one knows what ails him, leave alone how to cure it.

      The second matter is no less sensitive, but of it you will hear through official means eventually. I cannot name my source here, but I assure you that my information is good. It is this: The campaign in Kharid is not going to be a matter of pacifying the border, as we have been lead to believe, but of conquest. How far down the peninsula we will go is yet unknown, but expect to redraw the borders on your maps soon. We are naturally content –this means the army needs more of both bread and bronze, and the deal my father made with them has been renewed with Acernus. In addition, my brother intends to expand the family ventures into the manufacture of certain magical explosives, for which purpose he has already secured a building outside Senntisten.

      Consider this, and if you are wise, do as I advise you, Florus. Have your ships sail now to Uzer and Ullek, and buy as much of wine, textiles and ceramics as you can. Buy while the peace lasts and hold on to your hoard –once we can no longer trade there, your acquisitions’ value will be tenfold. This, naturally, is what we are doing as well, though on a much smaller scale and a rented ship.

       There is a third matter, though none of it is certain yet. It is my intention to see if I can leave my position as a prosecutor to work in the Palace. It appears that I have made a favourable impression, and that once a certain position opens, it might be mine. I can say no more at the moment.

      But until I receive further news I shall stay up here, and enjoy the tranquillity of this place and the company of friends and family. Let the future come not tomorrow, but the day after that! Take care of yourself, Florus.

     Your friend,

     Valerius

     P.S. As for the atrocious handwriting on that last paragraph and here, you can blame Acernus who (in the full knowledge that we still had work to do) amused himself at dinner by sneaking sips of wine from his cup to Dimidius, who is now quite merry. I am not only out of house and home, but stuck with a conspirator for a brother and a drunken lout for a secretary. Such is life.

 

               


	3. To Florus II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues

           Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten, 20th day of the sixth month

           Valerius greets Florus.

           I have news. The letter arrived three days ago, and it is now official: My father has handed the handling of our enterprises to my brother, and will retire from public life. Most of our property is now in Acernus’ name, including the bronze smithies and land near Annakarl and the house in Sucellus Street, but not the Villa Aquilonia. Father says he will not return to Senntisten, and wants to have the rest of his personal effects sent to the farm in South-East Forinthry. He will continue to act as an advisor, but does not wish to be involved in the daily handling of our affairs.

           Speaking of business, as for the situation in Kharid, everything is proceeding as I said –a third legion has now been despatched, alongside with Duke Ceres’ troops. I would advise you to not send any more trade ships to Uzer, and to urge your captains to return home at the earliest possible convenience. The beginning of the invasion is now only a matter of time, and neither Zarosian people nor property will soon be safe in Menaphite lands. Bear in mind that this will also mean the end of wheat imports from the south; prepare for a rise in the price of bread and all its consequences.

           That is how things are in the wider world. Here at the Villa Aquilonia (where I continue my exile) the troubles of the Empire are far away. Let me speak of lighter things. Having read Father’s letter, Acernus decided it a cause to celebrate and threw a dinner for a few close friends. He sent messengers down to the city to deliver the invitations, and managed to scrape together quite a feast at a very short notice. We had eggs, stewed mushrooms, carp from the garden pond, stuffed dormice, fruit from the orchard, and Kharidian wine which my brother did not bother diluting too much.

            As excellent a host as Acernus is, his taste in women has sadly not improved since his second divorce, and he insisted on bringing in his mistress, a horrible little tart who showed up indecently dressed and asked about the price of every dish and drink. Irritated by her shameless prying, Gaius in turn asked her how much she had paid for her hair, and the woman had the nerve to act offended. Had she quipped something clever in return, I would have excused her presence –I don’t mind a whore at the dinner table as long as she’s witty. Alas, she was both vulgar and boring, and being witty fell entirely on Dimidius’ shoulders with all the rest of his duties.

           While I am on the subject of witty people, could I not convince you to leave that miserable country town of yours and visit us in Senntisten while the summer lasts? I can always use your company, and as you can see, Acernus is quite cheerful about wasting money on guests.

           I have informed you, advised you and gossiped to you like a washerwoman, now I wish you good health and request a swift reply.

          Your friend,

          Valerius


	4. Greetings from Senntisten I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The letters continue,this time as written by Florus Ubertus, who is staying with his friends at the Villa Aquilonia in Senntisten's Silvarea.

 

     1st day of the seventh month, Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten

     Florus greets his family.

     My Decima, my children! I am happy to say that I have arrived safely in Senntisten and that I’m writing this letter at my friends’ house in Silvarea. Five days have passed since I kissed you goodbye, and if I have learned anything during them, it’s why I don’t visit to the Holy City more often.

     On the first day we travelled from sunrise to sunset, and stopped for the night before we reached the highway. We rode in the two-horse cisium along uncrowded country lanes, making our way leisurely north-east along the lakeshore. The sun did not shine too harshly and the gentle breeze from the Entrana Sea kept us cool. A man I know of old offered us his hospitality for the night, and we passed it in peace.

     The following morning we hit the Via Lassarica, and there our troubles started. Now, I do not deny that the road itself is a feat of ingenuity and engineering, but it’s a marvel I’d rather admire from a distance. After the latest extension it now runs all the way from Mons Albus to Senntisten, wide and well-paved, but sadly this is not enough space for some.  Let a road be broad enough to allow ten soldiers to march abreast, and let it stretch across half the Empire, one still always is about to crash with some speed-crazed madman’s bi-roto, or is almost running over a foot messenger, or else is being held up by a dim-witted cowherd who mistakes the highway for a cattle path. The Central Plains people are the worst offenders, they know neither how to drive nor dodge.

     We stopped for the hottest hours of midday. By then we were somewhere south of Mons Lassaricus, in the middle of nowhere but endless rolling fields and nameless little villages. We pulled over in the shade of an oak-grove where the trees shielded us from the sun, and a brook provided us with fresh water. A girl appeared from one of the whitewashed cottages to try and sell us bread and cheese, and I bought some despite having brought provisions. Figuring us for big spenders, she stuck around to try and sell something else, and I had to chase her away quite harshly. The driver sulked about it for the rest of the day and swore at every passing peasant.

     After six more hours of travel across nothing at all, we found a house to stay at for the night. It was a private home with a sign outside welcoming respectable travellers, and I’m glad to say a very modest sum of money bought us all dinner and a night’s lodgings. My room was warm and clean, and Felix and the driver had nothing bad to say about the stable. Should anyone you know ever be looking for a place to stay west of the river, tell them to find the house of Bonafacius the vintner.

     Well-fed and rested, we continued the journey in the morning.  In a few hours the little yellow villa and old yew-trees of good Bonafacius were behind us, and we were over the river and in Paddewwa Province. With every mile we passed, the road became more and more crowded. It seemed the whole Empire was indeed either headed to Senntisten or coming from there. Couriers on horseback treated the road as their own, scattering people and animals in all directions. High-ranking Pontifices in litters contested for right of way with vyrelords in covered carriages, the carriers not giving an inch to the drivers. Peasants in ox-carts were transporting stinking cheese, rotting fish and squeaking piglets to sell in the city, and beat their animals to near death while trying to get there in time for market day’s morning. We passed corpse-carts and soil-carts, a group of men condemned to the mines, the guard of an armed Tribune, and a travelling band of Balance Cultists who chanted noisily and waved their reeking incense torches at us.  They ought to hang the lot.

     The smoke-columns of the capital were already visible in the eastern horizon, when the high summer’s haze suddenly condensed into dark clouds, and within an hour the rainstorm hit us. Not only was the road jam-packed, it was now also slippery with no visibility whatsoever, and all three of us were drenched within minutes. We continued slowly, with the driver hunched over his seat and swearing louder than ever, while Felix and I tried to shield ourselves under my cloak. At length we came to a tavern and took refuge there.

     As for that, I’ve never seen such a thing. Some forty other people had had the same idea as us, and the place was packed from wall to wall. The tavern-keeper was running around taking money from some and delivering wine and food to others, apparently regardless of who had ordered or paid for what. A richly dressed man with a heavy Kharyrll accent sat at a table devouring a whole leg of lamb alone while his retinue looked on hungrily.  A group of Imperial Army rangers had sat down on the floor and struck up a card game, and now others wanted to join in and were arguing about the stakes. One corner was taken up entirely by the undulating bulk of a particularly large and offensive Chthonian of the Sucellanian line, who muttered to himself about times and customs and secreted slime all over the floor. Quite unfazed by it all, a lone young vyre went about the room and tried to solicit a drink of blood from any human present.

     After several tries I managed to seize the tavern-keeper by his sleeve, and did not let him go until he took me to a room upstairs. I paid five bronze pieces for a night in that miserable little chamber, and it took my host some time and violence to remove the man who had paid four.  Given the leaking roof and the cobwebs, I did not think it worth such fierce resistance. I spent the night with the cockroaches and the east wind.

     We departed first thing in the morning, and set out on the road once more. The Chthonian had apparently left in a hurry, and as a result the gate was now somewhat wider than when we had arrived.

     Decima, I know you prefer a little message every day to a long one followed by several days of silence. Thus I’ll end this letter here, and describe you the rest of the journey in another.  Kiss the children for me. Good-bye and good-bye!

     Florus


	5. Greetings from Senntisten II

     Greetings from Senntisten II

     2nd day of the seventh month, Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten

    Decima, children, I left you in the last letter with us out of that wretched tavern and nearing Senntisten. Now, before I keep my promise and finish the story, I have two orders: Firstly, regardless of whether the accident proves lethal or not, I need a new griffin-keeper. I have good recommendations on a man named Adamas in town, see if you can hire him. Do not go over what you paid the previous one. Second, I am currently holding on to the stock of Menaphite goods stored in Senntisten, order my secretary to turn down all offers.

    Since that is out of the way, let me return to more fascinating matters and recount the rest of my tale. The fourth day of the journey found us in the middle of Paddewwa Province. The fields around us were covered in haze after last night’s rain, and the rich and filthy smell of wet earth filled the air. Far in the horizon we could already see the smoke-columns of Senntisten against the sunrise.

    By now it was time that we turned off the Via Lassarica and headed north. The Lassarica leads to the city centre and its markets, and as such was already filling up with local farmers and traders. We, on the other hand, were bound for Silvarea, and thus made our way up towards the Via Sacrosancta.

     The little country lane joining the two highways was blessedly quiet. Around us spread the endless orchards and vegetable farms that feed the capital; the fuel that keeps the fires burning. Acre after acre of bean trellises and corn, and little farmhouses between apple trees. Harvest crews busied themselves in the fields while shepherds lead their flocks along dirt tracks. Pagan superstitions seem to persist among the local peasants as they do at home, and many of the crossroads we passed sported makeshift shrines to obscure gods and spirits.

      I could have got used to all that, but all too soon we were upon the Via Sacrosancta, and back among the troubles of civilisation. The Sacrosancta, as you know, runs from the fortress at Paddewwa through Senntisten’s Silvarea, crosses the River Salve, and continues across Kharyrll Province to the Portus Orientalis. Paddewwa, Senntisten, Kharyrll, that is three major garrisons along one highway, and the sight that met us reflected this. Men on their way to and from leave walked along the roadsides, leaving the middle for those on duty. Couriers on foot and on horseback sped past us, circling respectfully around officers and their retinues. Cohorts of men in purple and bronze marched westwards, bound for Mons Albus, or Ghorrock, or the wild Dareeyakian Range. At one point we pulled over for a maniple of Byzroth following their winged commander. As they filed past us, I could sense the heat emanating from their armoured bodies.

     Gradually, the walls of Senntisten emerged from the haze before us. Great fortifications of tuff and limestone circle the Holy City, wide enough to admit a chariot, or a Chthonian. Bronze statues of Avernics holding torches look down from the ramparts, and the purple banners fly atop the high watchtowers. Senntisten! The Holy, the Glorius, the Eternal! Looking at the Silvarea gate, my heart swelled with pride and pious awe until it near burst, and then we ran into the customs officer.

     It must be admitted that controlling the flow of goods from one province to another should be regulated. And it must be admitted that since soldiers are exempt from customs checks as a rule, he was probably hard-pressed to find anyone to shake down. But nevertheless, Decima, did it have to be me? The cisium is barely large enough to carry three humans and a very small trunk, what did he think I was trying to smuggle in? Felix? The driver? My own underclothes? A pound of Kharidian diamonds hidden inside the horses’ feedbags? Whatever it was, that insufferable little bureaucrat pulled us over and poked around until a silver piece in his palm caused all my troubles to vanish at once. A bit later we passed the cart of a man too poor or ignorant to bribe the customs-house vultures. His possessions were scattered all over the roadside, while the officers tore open more bags in search of loot that might buy him passage.

     But now we were clear of the legalized bandits and in the City. Of course, there are those who say that Silvarea is not Senntisten at all, but merely a glorified suburbia only included in the census for tax purposes. Let it be as it is, I am a Lassarian and not about to debate the fine points of urban geography with bloody-minded easterners. We were in Senntisten.

     The Via Sacrosancta went on, and in front of us rose the two hills of Silvarea, one on each side of the road. High above us little houses perched on the precipices, and olive trees hung their branches over the drop. Upon the far ends of the hills stood the Guardians, a pair of giant stone sentinels who forever keep watch over Kharyrll Bridge and irreligious Hallowland.

     A road runs from the Sacrosancta up the side of the Southern hill, so that none travelling there has to traverse through the filthy and unsafe lanes of South Silvarea. The path meandered up the western end of the hill, cut into the bedrock so as not to be too steep. Upon reaching the summit, the first thing we encountered was a graveyard. Through an old bye-law, the regulations prohibiting burial inside the city do not concern the hills, and many of the people who live there prefer to have their dead nearby. We stopped for a while to admire the monuments and mausoleums, which in solemn rows stood on both sides of the road. I got off to take a walk among them, and by chance came upon the grave of my hosts’ mother, Acernus the Elder’s late wife. It was a small construct of sarcophagic shape, with a simple inscription:

_Stop, stranger, and read my message._

_Here lies a woman named Lavinia Secunda._

_She lived for twenty-nine years,_

_Twenty of them under the guidance of Lord Zaros._

_She was a faithful wife to her husband,_

_And a loving mother to the two sons she gave him._

_Let the earth hold her as gently as she held them in life._

_That is all. Go on._

     So we did. By then the afternoon was turning into evening, and far on the other side lamps were being lit in the houses of the Northern Hill. Driving along the road following the precipice, we passed villa after villa, playhouses of Senntisten’s rich, until we stopped in front of the sixth gate. The Villa Aquilonia, a single-storey house in the shade of ivy-covered oaks.

     The gates were opened for us, and as we rolled up the garden driveway, my hosts appeared on the terrace. They looked so comical standing side by side, as if a figurine-maker had cast three heads from the same mould and attached them to differently clad bodies. There was the younger Acernus, dressed to the nines; my friend Valerius in his Pontifex’s robes, and beside him that bright and insolent verna who is his secretary.

     They bade me welcome, and ushered me in for a bath and a change of clothes. The following day I set down to write my first letter. Here I am. There you are, Decima. I will write you more tomorrow and tell about the city. Many good-byes,

      Florus

      Post Scriptum. The news arrived as I wrote the last lines. Our troops are over the Menaphite border. We are at war.

 


	6. Greetings from Senntisten III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florus' letters from Senntisten continue. Today we head down to the docks in Linguola.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nota bene: If the topography of Mid-Second Age Senntisten is unfamiliar to you, please consult the map in the Author’s Note.

 9th day of the seventh month, Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten

    Florus the oath-breaker greets his patient Decima.

    My love, I know I promised to write the very next day, but the quick turn of events has kept me from staying true to my word. The conditions being what they are, my visit has become less and less of a social call, and more and more an occasion to rearrange my affairs in the capital.

    The events and conditions I speak of have of course to do with the war against the Menaphites. I don’t know how fast news travel there, but according to the latest in Senntisten, our troops — three legions of humans spearheaded by the Avernics of Duke Ceres — are progressing steadily along the Elid, and have met little resistance. Apparently, Queen Senliten was miserably unprepared for the invasion, and is only now getting her armies in order. By the time they’re fit to launch a counter-attack, Ceres will be long past the bottleneck at the mountains.

    As for how any of this concerns me? As a side effect of the war, all trade between us and the Menaphites has ceased, which has left my fleet of trading vessels on the Salve with no purpose. My ships, which only a short time ago operated on a route between Senntisten and Ullek, have now been confined to short trips to Portus Kharidianorum and the Insula Salva, which barely pay for their upkeep. Hence, I knew that I’d either have to sell the lot, or find another way to profit from them for the duration of the war. Luckily, my friends had such a way in mind, and though I hardly came here to do business, it seems I have struck another lucrative deal. I cannot disclose its details yet, but rest in the knowledge that it will see us through the next years.

    In order to prepare my fleet for its new function, however, I’ve had to go through quite a lot of bureaucracy. Inspections and inspection fees, licenses and license fees, bribes and bribe-fees and the rest of the brazen daylight robbery that keeps the economy going. At the end, when matters would not progress, I decided to take care of them in person. There was a specific permit that I had to obtain, which meant paying a visit to the docks by the River Salve, where my ships lie moored and the extortionists of the Bureau of Trade and Customs maintain their lair.

So, yesterday after a light morning meal, we all left the house— me, my illustrious hosts, the other’s secretary, and a quartet of large and unpleasant young men carrying big sticks, whom Acernus refers to as his retinue. He never goes anywhere without them, muggings are all too common in this beastly place. Our lives and right of way thus ensured, we descended from the Southern Hill the way I had arrived, and landed right in the hot mess of Senntisten.

    It was only the fourth hour, but the streets were already chock-full, and in order to avoid the gridlock of the Twelve Streets, we decided to get a canal boat. There are dozens, if not hundreds of these flat-bottomed little vessels in the channel, piloted by the most ragged and foul-mouthed men you ever saw. For a few coins you can hire a boat and a rower, and given that you survive the trip, travel anywhere along the waterway swiftly.

    Having embarked at Soldiers’ Bridge, we found ourselves gliding speedily downstream, as the scarecrow in the back worked furiously his single long oar and screamed abuse at every colleague who wouldn’t give way. Circling deftly around barges, and once barely avoiding a head-on crash with a fishing raft, we flew on, leaving the bridge far behind.

    Soon we came to the first bend in the stream. For a few minutes a shadow fell over us, as we sailed past the sheer-drop end of the Southern Hill, the protruding wedge of rock that separates western Silvarea from Subsilvarea’s slum. It is a majestic sight — a vertical cliff-face, rising straight from the canal and towering high over the rooftops — but what comes after it is even more awesome.

   One never encounters anywhere such a stark contrast in wealth as on the stretch of water between the Old City and East Canalside. I’d look to one side, and see the magnificent palaces of Orcus Street, their pillar-lined facades, their bronze doors gleaming in the sun; colossal old mansions built to accommodate Chthonians and long-winged Tsutsaroth. Then I would turn my head, and find myself face to face with rows of filthy insulae, blackened by smoke, ready to collapse in the first good storm. Humans swarmed the narrow lanes like ants, while their myriad children played on the embankment half-naked. Fortune on one bank, misery on the other, and between them the canal, separating the two worlds as unforgivingly as the River Noumenon.

    On we went. Sticking fast to the western side, we passed first under the decaying Bridge of the Forgotten Infernals, and then between the high, marble-plated arches of the splendid Pons Victoris, until the channel twisted once more, and sent us on the final run towards the Salve. Not long afterwards, we slid between long-poled jetties at Linguola. There dozens of little tubs like ours floated, waiting for customers, while the boatmen whiled away the time throwing dice and insulting each other.

    Our oarsman, who had agreed on a price back on Pons Militum, had now changed his mind, and tried to haggle. Surrounded by his mates, he thought he could shake us down for a few extra coins, but Acernus and I shut him down with a few choice words. The others eyed us maliciously, but the sight of our staffs and Valerius’ pontifical robes held them back. Seeing he had no support, the man accepted his original fare and sculled out in a frenzy, splashing the dirty water and screaming obscenities at every stroke.

    When the retinue, who had done some quiet impressive running, finally caught up on us, we resumed formation and proceeded along the embankment to the docks.

    On the uttermost tip of the headland, at the end of a vast, paved market square, lies the great Harbour of Linguola, the heart that pumps the blood of the Salve. Even with the cut in traffic caused by the war, it is never quiet, never still, but always overflows with life like a beehive. Ships arrive and depart at all hours, now in sunlight, now by the moon, bringing goods and people from all over the world.

    That morning, waiting on stand-by at the southernmost wharf were three warships of the Imperial Navy, purple-sailed, their powerful bronze rams erect for the enemy. Next to them, packed as tightly as pigs in a sty, were the vessels of fishmongers and Kharidian traders, who even now were unloading their cargo: sealed amphorae of golden wine, rolls of finely-woven silk, whole groves of cedar felled and cut into baulks of fragrant timber. I watched for some time as a red-faced overseer cried commands and cracked his whip, while stevedores hauled down the gangways massive jars in which live fish were swimming —mullets and fatty eels, or little squids, who in indignation had dyed the water of their prisons black. Crabs from the coast of Hallowland, giant clams from the shallows around Forbidden Island, all caught at least three nights ago and sped to Senntisten without delay.

    There too, fastened side by side like slaves in a chain gang, were a few gaily painted Menaphite galleys that had failed to flee while they had the chance. The crafts had been seized and their crews taken prisoner; their cargo had been confiscated and was now being bootlegged by the happy pontifices at the Customs Bureau.

    Somewhere in that jungle of masts and flags, where the air smells of tar and rotting fish and the wind howls in the riggings eternal, was my fleet too, forced to idleness. We had come to remedy that, and as much as I would have loved to drink in the scenery, we now had to carry on, and seek out the Temple of Zaros the Protector.

    We found it soon, on a street off the market square. Considerably less impressive than its counterparts in the Merchants’ District, its most distinguishing feature were the vocative gifts left by sailors who had survived shipwrecks and storms: Anchors, banners, statuettes and carved prayer tablets, all piled on the sides of the wide entrance stairway as gifts to the god who had saved them. Priests may preach and lectors may teach, but such superstitions cannot be weeded out of the ignorant.

     

    On a figurine of a galley I read the following dedication:

     _Lord Zaros, who is fate, did not allow first mate Halava to perish in the sinking of the Conqueror._

     _Gloria Zarosi._

    Next to it was the dented breastplate of a soldier, which bore this inscription:

     _Legionnaire Taival, who served as a ranger on the Nemesis in the victorious naval battle at Saradena, thanks Lord Zaros for his protection._

     _Gloria Zarosi._

    Inside the temple, which functions as the headquarters of the Bureau of Trade and Customs at Linguola, I was directed to the office of the pontifex in charge of permits and licenses. A man of middle rank who knew he had reached the summit of his career, he seemed to have committed his entire energy to wheedling sweeteners out of anyone who entered the building. I found this out when he asked me for my paperwork— deeds, tax receipts, inspector’s statements on my ships condition. I had the lot with me, of course, all bearing the appropriate seals and signatures, but when I handed them to the pontifex, the idiot acted as if I had presented him with a dead badger.

    With barely a cursory glance at the documents he pushed them aside, and instead started going on about some imaginary tax or fee, without which he could not issue the appropriate permit. Having assessed my wealth from my clothes, he named an outrageous sum of money. When I let the man know I’d have none of it, his story got even wilder, and he started dropping hints that if I failed to pay his magical tax, my vessels could easily be confiscated. The nerve of the little rat! Hearing my Lassarian accent, he had taken me for an ignorant yokel, unaccustomed to the ways of the big city, and thought he could rob me without getting up from his seat.

    There is no helping those who are both greedy and stupid, and so I had to call in reinforcements. You should have seen the little fellow’s face, Decima, when they came in, Acernus who is known everywhere, Valerius with all his insignia of a _pontifex iuris consultus_. After I explained to them what the problem was, Acernus, who has a rather direct manner, looked like he was going to sock the lout, but his brother calmed him down. There had been a misunderstanding, Valerius said, and there was no reason for anyone to lose his temper. The outranked pontifex was simply incompetent. And since he clearly had no idea what he was supposed to be doing, and since this had led to him almost accidentally levying an unnecessary tax from a blameless gentleman, it was all for the best that Valerius took over. In fact, he announced, he’d write my permit himself, and all the man would have to do was to stamp it with his seal. The little weasel, frightened out of his mind, could do nothing but agree.

    Then, when Valerius ordered Dimidius to take dictation, the secretary — in on the plot — pointed out he could not write standing up. But if the pontifex so kindly would let him —

    Fuming, the man got up, and conceded his chair and desk to the verna, who in no time had written up my licence according to Valerius’ orders. Ever dutiful, Dimidius melted some of the man’s sealing wax, dripped it on the paper, and graciously asked him to stamp it. Unable to speak for his rage, the pontifex complied, and without a word, handed the document to me. I thanked him and told him I would not be writing his superior, but that I was not certain about my friends. He never answered but only bowed in submission, and so we left, retinue shambling in tow.

    You see now, my love, why I dislike Senntisten. There is not an honest man in this city.

    Before setting out on the journey home, we stayed for some time at the Linguola market. Acernus negotiated with a fishmonger about some freshwater mullets (he thinks they’d make a nice addition to the carp), while I made some good deals on Kharidian glassware for you. As we were preparing to leave, Acernus suddenly pointed out something. The warships, which upon our arrival had stood empty, were now teeming with sailors of the Imperial Navy, who seemed to be getting their galleys ready to sail. Today I learned they had departed at first light, and are now bound for the Hallowland Sea. They’re going to lay siege to Uzer.

    As I write this letter, Decima, I thank fortune that you and my children are safely on the other side of the Empire, far away from all this. As for me, I’ll continue to write, hopefully with more regularity. Expect me home after the Ides. Love me,

    Your Florus

    P.S. In this same package, you will find a letter to your brother. Please pass it to him at the earliest possible convenience.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love to shove in Latin aka Infernal words for colour and because I’m pretentious. The rarer ones in this chapter were:  
> -insula, insulae — 1) island (as in Insula Salva, these days the Polypore Dungeon island) 2) a Roman apartment building  
> -verna, vernae — a homeborn slave  
> -iuris consultus — a lawyer, a jurist  
> -“Gloria Zarosi” — my attempt to translate “Glory to Zaros”, with “Zaros” declined in the third declension.
> 
> -The Kharidian-Zarosian War is probably going to be shorter than it was canonically (However long that was, I haven't found the information anywhere. It will, nevertheless, eventually amount to the same thing.)
> 
> -Senliten was the Pharaoh of the Menaphite Empire when the Mahjarrat arrived, but died before Tumeken's Explosion. She was probably succeeded by her son Osmumten.


	7. Greetings from Senntisten IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Florus' last letter from Senntisten, featuring a mandatory shoehorned backstory.

9th day of the seventh month, Villa Aquilonia, Senntisten.

Florus greets his brother-in-law.

 

                Decimus, it is done. All bureaucracy is completed, and I am now officially in partnership with the Imperial Army. My vessels on the Salve have been cleared, and will from now on be employed in transporting supplies to the army in Magna Kharidia. Once the war is over and the peninsula is under our control, I can either return them their old function in importing trade goods, or continue as a partner to the garrisons that will be instituted there.

                Mind you, this is something you should keep an eye on — once we have the region, the best trade deals will go fast, and the first picks will go to people with connections in the army. Hurry, my friend, no chance like this will come again in our lifetime!

                That much I’ll say for business. As for leisure, my wife mentioned in her last letter that after reading the missives I sent her, you had become awfully curious about my hosts, whose name was entirely unfamiliar to you.

                I suppose I might as well tell a little about them — and their rather sudden eminence — for not only is there no harm in it, but also because it quite a story. I’ve pieced it together from conversations with them and their acquaintances, and hope you find it as entertaining as I have. So, sit down, you horrible old busybody, and enjoy the dirt on the Aquilonii.

                It is no wonder if the name rings no bells for you, given how set you are in Lassar, and given how set you are in your established set. They’re by no means of it, nor are they even connected with the old families of Senntisten. _Homo novissimi,_ you could call the lot. And if you were to look at them today, in all their wealth and splendour, you’d never guess that a few generations ago they were heathens from the wilds of north Forinthry.

                The tale starts with my friends’ grandfather, Sorto. This man— they’ve told me with some pride — was a chieftain of sorts in the lands halfway between Annakarl and Senntisten, who during the war in Forinthry Propior allied himself with the advancing Empire. He was, so it is agreed, a man of immense foresight and craftiness, who no doubt saw that the annexation was inevitable, and decided to get out of it as much as possible for himself and his family.

                So, at the time he didn’t only grant the army the right to camp on his land, but actually joined in with his primitive band of warriors in subduing his rivals’ resistance and bringing the region under the Zarosian banner.  When the war was over and a provincial government was in place, he was permitted to stay on as an advisor of sorts, but more importantly, was granted the deal that would build the wealth of his house — he became a grain supplier for the army. The eastern coast of Forinthry may be cold, but its earth is no less fertile than that of Central Plains, and Sorto ended up growing bread for every fortress and base in the vicinity.

                Sometime during the tumult, he had converted to Zarosianism and assumed his Infernal surname, Aquilonius. And though he only spoke the Infernal tongue haltingly, and had never learned to either read or write himself, he took the utmost care to ensure that his children would be able to enjoy the fruits of the new civilisation. He gave them all Infernal names, hoping to make them better received, and secured for them tutors from Senntisten. Apparently he had quite a litter to begin with, but the climate and healers being what they are up north, only one of his sons survived to adulthood. This, of course, was Acernus Maior, my friends’ father.

                Having grown to a man’s age at the estate, he was sent by Sorto to Senntisten, where he completed his studies under the tutelage of a family friend. However, he proved more apt at business deals than scholarly work, and with a small amount of capital received from his father, got into real estate. Regardless of how little he started with, over the years it grew into a dozen insulae in Subsilvarea, whose profits he used in turn to build a foundry at his father’s estate.

                As his wealth grew, he evidently found it increasingly easy to also muscle his way into the higher echelons of Senntisten’s human society, and made not a few connections in the church. (One of the people he befriended at the time, I heard, was a young Pontifex by the name of Sero, whom he helped out of one legal pickle or another.)

                As a sign of his affluence, the older Acernus finally bought a lot of land on Silvarea’s Southern Hill — which then was just as fashionable though not quite as crowded — and erected there the house in which I write this letter, the magnificent Villa Aquilonia. With the building finished, he finally got around to getting married, but not as people had surmised, to a Senntisten lady, but to a pagan convert from his father’s tribe.

                Before her death this woman bore him two sons, whose hospitality I now enjoy. I’ve been told little about her, but she was apparently the object of some curiosity among the long-necked types of the city. Even as I’ve been here, I’ve heard several strange allusions made to her, most of them about the supposed state of her mind.  It takes all sorts, I guess, including those who think nothing of passing around rumours about other people’s dead mothers. It’s utterly repulsive.

                But let me return to the story proper. When it came to his sons, Acernus proved no less ambitious than his own father had been. He had, from the beginning, a very clear vision for his two boys — he didn’t have an heir and a spare, but an heir and a pioneer for a new field. One son, the elder, was to inherit his business. The other, the younger one, was to have a career in civil service and function as their foothold in the church. Both received an education under private tutors, after which he took the older one under his own instruction, and sent the younger one to study law at the courts.

                It was at this time that I met Valerius. I was on a trip not unlike this one when I came to know him, then an assistant Pontifex at the courts, where he helped me sort out an unpleasant matter about my taxes. Later, during a conversation at dinner, it turned out that I had years ago in Kharid met his brother, whom I had in turn got out of some trouble (involving a tribune and the tribune’s wife. Very disagreeable.) We stayed friends ever since, and though they are as fixed in Senntisten as I am in Lassar, I’ve kept up a correspondence with both.

                (There is, of course, also the third one. I don’t think there is anything slanderous about me saying this, for it is quite evident who anyone who sees them together. As I said, old Acernus didn’t have an heir and a spare, but I believe he deliberately produced what could be called a potential spare — one he had educated with the younger one, and whom he could have easily adopted had either one of his sons died. It never came to that, fortunately, but I believe it shows something about his character and ability to plan forward, even if to you or I it seems somewhat untoward.)

                My speculations aside, I can only applaud his foresight. Not twenty years later, Acernus Minor is in charge of their ever-growing ventures and wealth, while Valerius is about to be transferred to the Palace, just as their father had planned.

                It is regrettable that my friends are so reluctant to discuss him. The old man retired a few years ago to a farm near the family estate, and recently announced his departure from public life. Such a pity, I would have been willing to meet him.

                So, those are my friends. And as Decima might have mentioned, they are now also my partners in trade. Their latest expansion has been into the manufacture of explosives, which my ships will shortly begin to transport to Kharidia.

                When you were reading the tale, I hope you kept in mind my initial words: the war will not last forever, and the spoils will go to the fast and well-connected. Just look to the example of Sorto, and see what fruit a perfectly timed investment during times of strife can bear.

                That’s the moral of the story, which I hope you enjoyed. I will return soon and look forward to seeing you again. May the war last long and may it bring you fortune, your loving brother-in-law,

                Florus Aubertus

              

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frightful crap.


End file.
